Criminal Data Analysis
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: *Felicity needs a favor, but, fortunately, she knows a guy.* A side story in the "Technical Assistance" universe that takes place after Chapter 8 "Wireless Network Troubleshooting and Diagnosis." Reading through the rest of the series first is highly recommended. Complete.


**Title: Criminal Data Analysis  
Word Count: 3118**

**Notes: **Oh wow, 6000 hits on _Technical Assistance_ on AO3! I'm still surprised at how much positive feedback this has received; it's more popular than I ever could have imagined. Thank you all so much for that! :) This chapter just nudges in as a semi-cliffhanger for Chapter 9, so if you want to wait, I completely understand. :) Nine will be up Thursday, as always. :) But, if you do read, I'd appreciate any feedback you have for me on the chapter. If you have the time, of course. If not, well, I appreciate you reading! Thanks again for all the love on this series! :)

* * *

Felicity is on her lunch break, reading through recent news articles when she sees it. The headline is simple but elegant in its design: "Moira Queen Injured After Assailant Opens Gunfire on QC Steps." She skims rather than reads the article, and she notes that a man was killed, though the article focuses on the fact that Moira was injured. Without a second thought, she dials Oliver's number, hoping she isn't interrupting anything. The phone picks up, and she can hear a high-society female voice say, "Don't torment your brother," in a chiding tone in the background.

After some other muffled background noises, Oliver finally answers, "Hello?" There's a new tone to his voice, as if he's surprised to find her calling him. Maybe he thought she'd take that offer to ignore him to heart, but she doesn't think she could possibly ignore Oliver since the last time they met. They nearly _died_ together; of course she's going to call him and, if he ever calls her, she's also going to take his calls every time.

"Hey, I heard about your mom," she starts, jumping right into the conversation. "Is she all right?" She pauses when she realizes she's never called him before, and she should probably make sure he knows who he's talking to. "This is Felicity by the way, if the awkward start to this entire call didn't give that away." She laughs at herself because she really can't do anything else. After all, it's just another conversation she's botched before it even had a chance to start.

He does one of those breathy almost-laughs before saying, "I did manage to get the caller ID working—I'm not that inept." His tone is defensive, as though he expects her to refute that, when she doesn't see any reason to do so; Oliver has proved his capabilities several times. There's a smile in his voice as he continues, "And my mother is fine, thank you. She's a little shaken up—and has a few cuts and bruises—but she's otherwise all right. In fact, I think they're about to release her from the hospital."

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief she doesn't even know she was holding—for a woman she doesn't even know. "That's good," she says, relief making her voice a little breathy. "I'm actually on my lunch break and I was catching up on the news. I'm sorry to interrupt you at the hospital, but I thought if you needed anything—"

He cuts her off. "You're not an interruption, Felicity." This earns him a response from someone in the background that sounds suspiciously like Thea, and her suspicions are confirmed when he says, voice muffled by a hand over the receiver, "Thea, don't start." This earns him another set of chatter, this time from both female voices, and Felicity has a feeling this isn't the first time the two have ganged up on him. Finally, he says to Felicity, "And I'm glad you called—it's nice to have something else to focus on for a while." She thinks she can practically hear the disapproving glare focused on the two women in the room with him.

Felicity comes up with a plan and then prepares herself for what she's about to do. She feels like a horrible human being for using her friend for information, but then she reminds herself why she's even considering. "I read the police haven't made an arrest yet," she states as casually as she's able, but her voice is a fluttery and her tone a little too high. "How could they miss some guy who opens fire on the steps of a public building like that?"

Oliver sighs. "Well, the newspapers didn't get the full story," he responds in a tone that makes Felicity think it's accompanied by an eye roll. "The guy was on a motorcycle or a moped of some sort. He just pulled out a gun and started shooting as he passed by—he didn't even stop."

"You were there," Felicity breathes, and this time it's not a question. She can tell that he saw the whole thing unfold, and it makes her ribcage constrict to think that anything would happen to him. Oliver has been through so much—she doesn't think it would be fair for anything to happen to him here in Starling City, of all places.

"I was," he admits, and his voice is a little dark and grave as if he's reading her thoughts. "I was supposed to pick Mom up for lunch, but as I pulled into a parking space, I saw the bike. He was traveling too fast down the boulevard"—Felicity likes that he's too modest to call it Queen Boulevard, named after his family and the building that has his family's name on it—"and he took some alleyways. Ended up going in a general East direction, I think, but I'm a little unclear." She can see the dissatisfied frown on his face as he tells her, "I know it's a cliché, but it all happened so fast, and I wasn't able to keep up with the events."

"You know it's not your fault, right?" Felicity asks then, feeling the guilt suffocate her over the phone connection. She's not surprised, though; he always seems to want to blame himself when anything goes wrong. She remembers some article she read about survivor's guilt, but she decides what kind doesn't matter—Oliver Queen as a variety of guilt types and the boy is up to his eyeballs in misery because of it.

"That's what they've been telling me," he says, but she can tell he's going to need some convincing. Maybe she'll be able to do it face-to-face later—she's up to the challenge, and he doesn't need to walk around with that pain. He clears his throat. "But, the fact of the matter is, a gunman tried to kill my mother today—and nearly succeeded."

"That's just horrible," Felicity responds, frowning. "Why would someone do something like that?" It's a question she's never been able to answer for herself: Why do people do such horrible things to one another? She can't help but feel sympathy for Oliver; since he's been back, it has been one whirlwind of drama right after the other. He's been kidnapped and saved by the Vigilante, been wrongfully arrested for murder, had an attempt on his life, and now his mother has been shot at in broad daylight by some guy on a bike.

Oliver's response is completely nonplussed as he replies, "Our family has enemies—you don't come to own a multi-billion dollar corporation without making a few." His nonchalance reminds Felicity how different their worlds are—her bad days consist of being late for work, while his mean that someone tries to kill his mother. Still, it's unnerving to hear him talk so calmly about such things.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she offers. "Anything I can bring to the hospital?" She at least wants to offer after basically grilling him for information—and because, well, he's a friend, even if they're an odd pair. "You know, clothes, books, toiletries—food that isn't made of gelatinous goo?"

She's rewarded with her lame attempt at humor when he chuckles, and she decides it's a sound she'll never hear enough. "I think we're okay here, but thank you," is his reply. "Mom is being discharged soon, so I think everything is going as well as can be expected. It's nice of you to ask, though."

"It's the least I can do," she assures him, adding silently, _because I just grilled you for information_. "If you decide you need something, give me a call. I know you have your hands full right now."

"Thank you, Felicity," he replies, and she can picture the look on his face. Those piercing blue eyes always focus on her so intently when he's being sincere, as if he can stare straight into her soul. It would be tense if she wasn't so captivated when he pins her under his gaze. She's just thankful that this time she doesn't have to see it in person.

"Always glad to help, Oliver," she replies easily, surprised to find how much she means it. "I'll let you get back to your mother. Talk to you later."

"Bye," he responds, and then the line goes dead. By this point, Felicity is sorry for his sake that she called; she knows there's a grilling in his future, caused because she dared call him. But still, ensuring his family safety is the friendly thing to do, and she wouldn't change her decision.

She instantly turns back to her computer, opening a code window. It doesn't take her long to find her way into the SCPD servers, and she actually uses the login screen this time, after making sure her system is properly cloaked to avoid giving her computer information away. The login is old and hasn't been used in the past two years, but she hopes that the police department doesn't clear out their old IDs.

They apparently don't, judging by the way the screen welcoming her to the server pops up instantly. She sorts through some case files before she finally finds the police report detailing the path the shooter traveled. Then she hacks her way into the traffic cameras, and she's able to get a still of the shooter running a red light. After closer examination, she decides it's time to make a call. She picks up the pink sticky note that was left on her desk—the one with her phone number printed carefully across it. Below it, though, it now shows a very masculine scrawl of numbers. Though no name is listed, she already knows who she'll be talking to when she dials. She picks up her phone and starts hitting numbers.

She's done a few favors for him—now it's time for the Vigilante to reciprocate.

* * *

Oliver knows the Spanish Inquisition is coming as soon as he terminates the call; the two questioning pairs of eyes focus on him, and Thea is smiling mischievously. He prepares himself for the battery of questions, and he isn't disappointed. His mother goes first, more subtle than Thea would be as she states, "Felicity? That's a new name."

"She's a new person," he replies smoothly. "We've only met since I've been back in town." It's strange, but it seems like every time he has a conversation involving Felicity Smoak, he doesn't have to lie nearly as much to the people around him. It's as though, when she's present, she helps him become a better person—both him as Oliver Queen and as the Vigilante.

His mother shoots him a disapproving glance. "Is this really a time to start meeting new people?" she asks him, her tone at its most motherly despite her scare earlier. "I talked to Laurel a few days ago—she says she hasn't spoken to you in over two weeks." Her glance turns suspicious. "She says you haven't been returning her calls." She frowns again disapprovingly. "And you two were so close before everything happened—she was your girlfriend. I was hoping the two of you could put aside your differences."

Oliver presents his best smile, even though his mother knows better. Laurel is a sensitive subject these days; she tried to shoot him as the Vigilante, and then she kissed him and said it was a mistake. Felicity was right; Laurel is toxic, and the best thing he can do for his own sanity is to leave her alone until he can find a way to be friendly. "Laurel and I are... complicated," he admits finally. "We're both very different people now." It's one of the most honest things he's said since his return—the two no longer have _anything_ in common except a past history. "And Laurel _was_ my girlfriend, Mom. I don't think that's ever going to happen between us again."

He sees Thea about to speak and moves to cut her off, but Speedy is always faster. "Felicity is his girlfriend now," she states smugly, not realizing how misinformed she is. Then she turns to Oliver. "And, oh, by the way? I _so_ approve. She's a riot with that mouth of hers."

He vaguely wonders when Felicity had an opportunity to meet Thea, but then he remembers when she delivered his laptop to the house. He thought he was able to stop that potential train wreck, but apparently not. But then he marvels at the idea that Thea—outspoken, prickly _Thea_—couldn't scare her off. Oliver turns to his mother while ignoring his sister. "Felicity is a friend," he reiterates sharply. Admitting she's a friend is hard enough; he certainly wouldn't admit to anything else, even if it _were_ true. "She read the story in the news and wanted to make sure you were all right after this morning." He doesn't want to remind her that she was the one who saved his life when the assassin came after him—his mother goes white every time it's mentioned.

Something flashes in his mother's eyes. "Is she the one you've been spending your nights with?" She's referring to the conversation they had a few weeks prior, when she asked him why he was sneaking away from Diggle every night. That was before he had decided to break the secret to his bodyguard, so he needed a cover story. That he was running around at night with a random girl seemed like the obvious choice; no one seemed surprised by his answer.

"No," Oliver lies. "I told you I'd introduce her if we ever exchanged first names." The second part isn't exactly true because the girl he spoke of doesn't exist, but then he reminds himself it is partially true. Felicity doesn't know the Vigilante's first name. He thinks about what Thea said earlier and turns to his sister. "What do you mean, 'that mouth of hers'?"

Thea laughs instantly. "I mistook her for one of your bimbos," she answers with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway, she set me straight—just blurted out the first thing she could think of to say. It was adorable." There's an approving light in her eyes that only a sibling can display to another, and he frowns at her. The last thing he needs is Thea meddling in his love life—especially since he doesn't currently have or want one.

Before he can ask further, his phone starts ringing, but it's not the same one from earlier. Despite that, the caller ID still informs him it's Felicity in bold letters. He's a little surprised at first, but then he remembers that suspicious way she asked for information—pumping him gently for details. Oliver clears his throat and stands. "Sorry," he offers, holding up his second phone, nearly identical to the first, "but it's the contractor I hired to work on the club. If he's calling, something is probably wrong."

He takes it out in a quiet corridor before answering, "Hello, Felicity." He knows that one of the added features allows it to cloak his voice, so he sounds the same to her as he does with the modulator.

"Oh, wow, your phone does that, too," she comments, starting to babble again. "I was actually expecting to hear a voice. I don't know what I was thinking."

He smiles at her antics, but then he thinks it's probably best if his Vigilante persona doesn't chitchat. "Why are you calling?" he demands.

She clears her throat. "Oh, right. I've done a few favors for you, and now I need one in return." It surprises him how hesitant she sounds, voice dropping as uncertainty kicks in.

"All you have to do is ask," he promises her, surprised to find how much he means it. A few weeks ago, he didn't even know Felicity Smoak existed, but it's funny how he can't imagine his life without her any longer. She has firmly entrenched herself in his life now, and he'd do just about anything if she asked him.

She takes a deep steadying breath, probably to prepare herself for the favor he already knows to anticipate. "My friend Oliver?" He thinks he likes the way she refers to him as her friend a little too much. "His mother was nearly gunned down this morning. The cops are clueless, as usual." He can't stop himself from wondering when she became so cynical—he thinks that might be his Vigilante influence speaking, but he can't bring himself to feel guilty about it. "Anyway, I want the asshole who shot at her in jail." She pauses before emphasizing, "In. _Jail_. As in, if you put an arrow in this guy, I'll find you and I'll drain all your bank accounts and send your money to the ASPCA."

Her voice changes immediately after the threat that makes Oliver want to chuckle, and she continues, "Yeah, that seems like a good one—that commercial with Sarah McLachlan always makes me cry. And giving money injured and abused puppies and kittens is a noble cause. Miracle Max would approve. Well, he probably wouldn't, but I would tell him Humperdinck suffered, and he'd agree."

He doesn't understand that last part, but he can't really ask as the Vigilante, though he burns with curiosity. "I'll look at your information tonight," he assures her. "Leave the window over the fire escape open."

"You really need to find a better way in," she states flatly. "I mean, you're called the Arrow and you visit my apartment by window. You have to be the most unoriginal person on the planet." She sighs in something that sounds like disappointment. "At least you're not a stalker, or the whole thing would be creepy." A concerned pause, then, "You aren't a stalker, are you?"

Yes, he's probably bordering on stalker behavior the way his life seems to be orbiting around Felicity, but he doesn't let the errant thought escape the confines of his mind. "I'll be there as after nightfall," he promises her.

_"_You better," she replies, and then terminates the call. Oliver can no longer contain the series of chuckles threatening to escape him, and so he takes a moment to laugh and regroup before returning to where his mother and sister wait. Then he wonders when the last time he smiled was, but realizes the answer is all too obvious: the last time he spoke with Felicity. He shakes his head, still trying to contain as smile as he speaks to his mother again.

Only _Felicity_ would be brave enough to threaten the Vigilante.


End file.
